Page 81 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
I pick up the velvet one first. It's soft, luxurious even, the kind of thing I'd usually gravitate toward. "This one?"
Jamie nods enthusiastically. "That's a popular choice. Feels nice against the skin."
Orion reaches over, his fingers brushing mine as he takes the swatch. The contact is brief, careful, like he's used to people pulling away.
"This will get itchy," he says quietly, his accent making the words softer somehow. "After an hour, maybe less. When you're performing under hot lights, sweating... it will drive you mad."
He speaks from experience. Years of it, probably. Wearing masks for long enough to know exactly which materials hold up and which ones become torture devices.
"Try this one instead." Orion picks up what looks like a thinner, less luxurious option. "It's not as comfortable at first. But for extended wear, for performances... you'll thank me."
I take it, running my thumb over the material. It's rougher, less immediately pleasant. But there's something practical about it, something that saysthis is built to last.
"Yeah," I say. "Okay. This one."
Jamie beams like I just passed some kind of test. "Perfect! I'll get started on the design. Rex said it needs to be as simple as possible, which isboring, but I'm going to play with the idea and see what I can do."
I turn slowly to look at Rex, who's still planted by the window like a gargoyle watching over his territory.
"Ohreally?" I ask, ice dripping from every syllable. "As simple as possible?"
Rex's visible eye narrows slightly, but he doesn't respond. Just stares back with that flat, unreadable expression.
Jamie glances between us, clearly sensing the tension but not understanding its source. "Anyway," he says brightly, probably trying to defuse whatever powder keg he just accidentally lit, "I was thinking maybe a half-mask? Something that sits high on the cheekbones, leaves the mouth free for singing. Clean lines, minimal ornamentation. Elegant simplicity."
"Sounds perfect," I say, still glaring at Rex.
He has the audacity to look bored.
Jamie sets the cast aside carefully and starts sketching in a notebook, his pencil moving with quick, confident strokes. Orion leans over his shoulder, occasionally murmuring suggestions that Jamie either incorporates or playfully dismisses.
They work together with an ease that speaks of years of partnership. Not just romantic—though there's plenty of that, too, even in the soft touches and shared glances—but creative. Like they're two halves of the same artistic brain.
It's nice to watch. Almost makes me forget I'm standing in a tower full of masks and horror props while my blackmailer lurks in the corner like a shadow made flesh.
"So," Jamie says conversationally, not looking up from his sketch. "Do scars bother you? Aesthetically speaking?"
I blink, thrown by the sudden shift. "Scars?"
"Yes." He's still sketching, adding shading to what looks like the cheekbone area. "Do you find them... off-putting?"
I glance at Rex, who's suddenly gone very still across the room. Is Jamie trying to hook us up? Or is he asking because of Orion? Why would he be doingthat, though?
“No,” I answer honestly, not sure where this is going. “Scars don’t bother me at all. Why?”
Rex’s eye narrows slightly.
Jamie’s face lights up like I just told him Christmas came early. "Oh, that's wonderful! I was hoping you'd say that because… well, I think you're adorable, and I’m sure Orion agrees, and sometimes I like to have betas over for… bonding activities.We were wondering if you'd like to come over sometime for dinner or board games or… whatever else you’d like?”
My brain short-circuits.
I stare at Jamie. Then at Orion. Then back at Jamie.
"You're..." I’m too flustered to find words right away. "You're inviting me to… uh…fuck?"
"Eventually!" Jamie says, flustered now. "Not immediately! We could start with Scrabble! Or Monopoly! Though Monopoly ruins friendships, so maybe not that one. Catan? Do you play Catan?"
Orion runs a hand down his face, the golden skull mask catching the firelight. "What Jamie is trying to say—poorly—is that he likes you and would like to get to know you better. Withnopressure or expectations beyond a game night."
